


Like For Like

by Orokiah



Category: Demons (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-07
Updated: 2010-03-07
Packaged: 2017-10-07 19:03:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/68213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orokiah/pseuds/Orokiah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are lines that should never be crossed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like For Like

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Demons and all characters are the property of Shine Group and ITV.  
> Context: They Bite, The Whole Enchilada, Saving Grace, Suckers

Rupert Galvin divides his life into befores and afters. Before he met Mina Harker, when he was young enough to think Dracula was just a scary fairy story and not cold hard truth. Before Maggie died, when the world looked different, not viewed through his jaded eyes, but through hers. Before Jay died, when it was the two of them, brothers in arms, against whatever the half-life saw fit to spit out at them. Before he stepped back into the spotlight of Luke's life, skulking in the shadowed fringes of it.

 

Before he realised Ruby had a crush on the wrong smiter.

 

\----

 

Luke and Ruby burst giggling into the Stacks, a whirlwind of youth and enthusiasm, back from a shopping trip Galvin vetoed but Mina allowed, surprising him by agreeing with Luke that even teenagers with a destiny need an escape now and then.

 

She does that, Mina. Surprises him, even now, punctures what she'd call boorishness and he good sense with a calm voice and a well-timed word.

 

Maybe he'd wonder why he let her do it so often, and so easily: if he wasn't busy wondering why Luke has abandoned the short jackets he usually wears for a dark-coloured overcoat that stretches down to his knees. He looks like he's been raiding his daddy's wardrobe. If Jay Van Helsing had been into the kind of coat that made him look like a midget dressed up as a cowboy.

 

"What on God's grey earth is that?" he barks.

 

Mina's mouth twitches in amusement, hands moving serenely over Braille-studded parchment.

 

"Ruby picked it," Luke says. "Mum said I needed a new jacket."

 

"You still do. That there's a coat."

 

"A clean one," Luke retorts.

 

"Smiting's a dirty business, my friend. Get used to it."

 

"Give them a twirl, then," orders Ruby.

 

Luke makes a half-hearted attempt to obey. Galvin looks to the ceiling to avoid it. The Stacks is a place for serious supernatural study, not a runway. It's not a place for Ruby, either. He's not sure why she keeps on showing up, stuck to Luke's side like a third arm. Getting kidnapped by a freak like Thrip should have sent her off screaming, not steaming back in for seconds.

 

"You've got too much goddamn money and too little sense. And you can tell your mom I said so."

 

"Excuse me!" Ruby protests.

 

"You were taking him to choose your kid brother's birthday gift." Galvin points at the coat. "That gonna fit?"

 

"He wants an Xbox," Ruby says. She shuffles her feet, looking uncomfortable. "Bit out of my league."

 

"So you thought you'd play dress-up with Luke instead."

 

"I think he looks distinguished," Ruby says as Luke solicits a more favourable reaction from Mina, holding the lapels open for her to examine.

 

"What do you think, Mina?" Galvin asks habitually.

 

She feels up and down, considering, perceiving what the rest of them have missed. "I think it's not entirely dissimilar to yours."

 

Luke looks over at Galvin, over at the coat stand by the steps, where Galvin's own knee-length trench is hanging, and finally down at himself. A look of mortified horror crosses his face.

 

"I look stupid in it anyway," he snarls, scowling at Ruby as he walks away, pulling off the coat like it's a new breed of half-life trying to smother him.

 

Galvin looks at Ruby for a reaction, expecting to see disappointment, the familiar sting of rejection. But she's staring at his coat, head cocked to one side in thought, and he gets the impression that she preferred the original anyway.

 

And just like that, alarm bells start ringing.

 

\--

 

Maybe he's jumping to conclusions. He's schooling Luke in the art of smiting, after all. It's little wonder he's starting to see the world the way Galvin does, when it's an outlook he's been pushing him towards since they met. The old nature/nurture conundrum, given shape. It may be Jay's blood in his veins, but the ideas in Luke's head belong to Galvin.

 

The Gilgamel job comes and goes, and Luke mentions that Jenny thinks he's becoming like his daddy. He doesn't mention that he's becoming like his godfather too, more and more with every minute they spend together. He kicks against it, kicks against him, but the signs are there.

 

He's even picked up on the lingo, is starting to repeat, parrot-like, the things Galvin says. Picking up his fashion sense wasn't part of the plan, but there are worse habits he could have adopted.

 

Problem is, it's not Luke who's doing all the parroting. Not consciously, anyhow. He might not feel about Ruby the way she clearly does about him, but hell, he's still a teenage boy, Van Helsing or no. If Ruby tells him he looks hot dressed like Galvin, he's going to fall for the flattery. Please her first, panic about it later.

 

It says something about Luke.

 

He's still not sure what it says about Ruby.

 

\--

 

He's never been known for finesse, favouring blunt and brutal, but he broaches the subject as delicately as he can one evening in the Stacks, while they're clearing away the debris from a post-smiting pizza. Galvin and Luke did the smiting. He let Ruby watch, then sent her out to buy the pizza.

 

"Did you hear what Luke said tonight, Ruby, when he was putting down that type six?"

 

"'Oh, shi-'"

 

"Not that."

 

She recites the rest instantly, as if she's memorised it. "'I will most surely smite thee'." She frowns. "Might have been 'thou'..."

 

"Exactly."

 

"It's like his catchphrase. It's what he always says now."

 

"It's what _I_ always say."

 

Ruby casts him a sideways glance, kohled eyes half-hidden by dark lashes. "I've noticed."

 

"I guess it shows he's learning," Galvin mutters, the conversation suddenly not seeming like such a smart idea.

 

"What is it with all the 'thees' and 'thous' anyway?"

 

He stares at her. Her cheeks flush pink from the scrutiny.

 

"I mean, it's how people used to talk, isn't it? We did it in college once. Ye Olde English. So unless you're secretly really, really old—"

 

"I'm 45," he tells her sharply.

 

"That's not old," Ruby says.

 

"It is when you're 18."

 

The unspoken meaning hangs in the air between them. The silence that follows almost makes him think Ruby's gotten the message.

 

"It's not the way people talk in America though, is it?"

 

He lifts an exasperated eyebrow. "You know a lot of Americans?"

 

"I watch TV," she says, as if that explains everything.

 

"States is a big place. We say things different all over, just like you."

 

"Sometimes you say things the way we do."

 

He brushes away the uneasy thought that she's been paying way too much attention. "You spend a lot of time away from home in this game. I've seen more of Eastern Europe than I have of the good ol' US of A. No wonder I talk funny."

 

"Not funny," Ruby says, peeling dried cheese off a discarded crust. "You just have a weird accent."

 

"So do you."

 

"Do I?" she squeaks.

 

"Sure. Not a London one either. Even though Luke reckons you've known each other since kindergarten."

 

"You mean nursery..."

 

"Nursery's a place you grow plants. I haven't gone that native."

 

"My dad's from up North," Ruby tells him. "Maybe I picked it up."

 

"Have to watch that," Galvin says. "You'll be going home talking like me."

 

"I like the way you talk," she says, almost shyly, a glint in her eyes that's impossible to mistake.

 

Galvin freezes up, cursing himself for getting drawn in, letting his guard down. He sends a mental plea to Mina to come rescue him, before he gets more proof of his suspicions than he really wants.

 

"Do you speak any other languages then?" Ruby asks, delving deeper.

 

"The language of freaks," he answers gruffly, and with no help from Mina forthcoming, retreats to a safe distance to help her and Luke put away the guns.

 

\--

 

Maybe Ruby's confusing what she feels for Galvin with what she feels for Luke. She's seeing the changes in him and liking the root of them, the way she does the result. She's a teenager, after all. A pouty-lipped mass of hormones and attitude, mixed up in a world she doesn't belong in, that's sure to turn around and bite her in the ass as a thank you.

 

Tibbs comes back into his life, and Galvin warns her out of Luke's. He doesn't warn her away from him, figuring that'll take care of itself with some distance. He does tell her she can't smite her way into Luke's heart, hoping she'll understand, like for like, that his is off limits too.

 

Jenny apart, there's no room in their lives for anyone that can't take care of themselves. Giving Ruby a ride home and his cell number – writing it on her _hand_, what the hell was he thinking? – didn't keep her safe from Thrip. Marrying Maggie didn't keep her from an early grave.

 

He doesn't need more deaths on his conscience, and Luke is still too much of a rookie to know how to deal with one. Ruby's a liability. A distraction warriors like them don't need, and can't afford.

 

And then she saves their lives.

 

It doesn't seem to change Luke's opinion of her, but gradually, it begins to change his.

 

\--

 

Mina's driver has a rare night off, and with Luke still banned from wasting good smiting time to retake his test, Galvin winds up on taxi duty. As Mina and Luke live in fancier locations closer to town, Ruby is the last to be dropped off.

 

"I really should get a bus pass," she jokes as the Merc pulls up, reaching for her bag. "Thanks for the lift, Rupert."

 

"Not gonna take your test then?"

 

He might as well be asking why she lives in this dump and Luke lives in palatial splendour round the block. It's a tactless question, and Ruby avoids it. "Are you sizing me up as your chauffeur?"

 

Galvin pretends to consider it. "Might be an idea."

 

"Might be," Ruby agrees. "It's not like I'm any good with pulse guns."

 

"Just as well you're pretty handy at defusing bombs."

 

She grins from ear to ear at the reminder.

 

"I still don't understand why you did, though."

 

The grin disappears. Ruby looks confused.

 

"Me? I'da just dragged it outta there, all the way to the Thames. Splash. Boom. Job done."

 

"Some bombs go off when you move them," Ruby says indignantly. "Have you never watched a movie?"

 

"So drag Mina out instead."

 

"And let the Stacks go up in smoke?"

 

He regards her with interest. "Y'know, there's not many people that'd put their neck on the line for a load of dusty old books."

 

"Important dusty old books," Ruby corrects, self-consciously winding the strap of her bag around a finger. "Luke needs them."

 

"Hell of a chance to take just to impress Luke."

 

She meets his eyes. "You need them too."

 

"Yeah," he says slowly, not sure what they're talking about anymore. "I guess maybe I do."

 

They sit in silence for a while, the only sound the engine ticking over. It's not a comfortable silence, and Galvin drums his fingers on the wheel, the tension in the air making him uneasy.

 

"I'd better go," Ruby says, bolting upright and blinking as if she's been in a trance. There's embarrassed laughter bubbling under in her voice. "They'll be wondering where I am."

 

"Where are you usually?"

 

"Out with Luke. No one's ever going to question that. And it is sort of the truth."

 

Galvin looks up at the lighted windows peppering the concrete, unsure which is hers. "I don't look much like Luke."

 

"I'll tell them _you're_ the chauffeur," Ruby says pertly.

 

"Sort of the truth too," he concedes.

 

She bites her lip. "Maybe if you let him take his test again—"

 

"No."

 

"Why not?"

 

"Boy's got a job to do. Stuff to learn. Last thing I need is him joyridin' around, trying to weasel his way out of it."

 

"Maybe if you cut him some slack he wouldn't want to."

 

The subject's a serious one, but he feels a smile sliding its way onto his lips. "'Cut him some slack'? Who's the American here?"

 

"Well it's definitely not you," Ruby says as she opens the door and gets out of the car. She shuts it and turns to lean in over the open window. "Real Americans don't say 'thee'."

 

Galvin shakes his head at her sass and drives away.

 

Ruby stands there and watches until the car rounds a corner, removing her from view. It worries him more than he cares to admit that he can still see her face.

 

\--

 

Maybe he's just being a guy, head getting turned by a pretty young girl. He wouldn't be the first, after all. He's letting the way she looks at him, the loneliness he quietly admits to on cold English nights, seep into his old bones and convince him there's more to this than a teenage crush.

 

Quincey returns, tugging at Mina's loyalties and heartstrings, holding Galvin and Ruby hostage for her blood. There are no shades of grey for Galvin, only black and white absolutes: lives and half-lives, us and them. Grade 'em, smite 'em, move on. But Quincey is his mother's son, and he questions it, argues his side, persuades Ruby that he's got a point.

 

He's angry with Mina. He's angry with Quincey, for making hints about Jay's death he fears will get back to Luke. He's angry with Ruby, for being so goddamn stupid, for listening to a freak, for getting kidnapped from under his nose yet again.

 

Galvin doesn't want to admire Ruby and her morals and compassion, things the job has stripped from him and replaced with cynicism and rage; a drink problem he knows he's got but pretends he hasn't. He doesn't want to look back at her when she's looking at him, turning something innocent into stolen glances that linger, leaving a world of questions in their wake.

 

But both of these things he does.

 

Even if he knows he really, really shouldn't.

 

\--

 

Galvin spends more nights in the Stacks, brushing up on the things he knows, researching those he doesn't, than he does in the room he's taken long-term at the Compton's. Since Quincey died Mina has taken to joining him, accepting whiskey in her coffee and a comfort from his company he knows she'll never admit to.

 

"Berberis Trip," he reads from a yellowing file, pulling out a chair for Mina at the round oak table. "Any relation to Gladiolus Thrip?"

 

"Only in his dreams," Mina replies, resting her cane against the polished wood. "Trip is a type seven. Thrip could crush him with a fingernail."

 

"Trip. Thrip. Gladiolus. Who thinks of these damn things?"

 

"Perhaps they lie in their coffins pondering the same about you."

 

He huffs and sits opposite. "Galvin's a fine American name."

 

"Less so Rupert."

 

He shoots a glare in her direction. She shivers teasingly. "Ooh. I felt that."

 

"You're just sayin' that to be spooky."

 

"I don't have to see things to know they're there," Mina says.

 

Galvin stops reading and looks up. She's staring at him, or seeming like it, the way only she can. Decades of practice made eerily perfect.

 

"Is this going somewhere?" he asks, flicking too fast through ancient pages, the edges crumbling to dust on his fingers.

 

"Luke."

 

"What about him?"

 

"You're pushing him very hard, Rupert."

 

"I need to," he snaps. "Kid's got eighteen years of training to catch up on. I'm not gonna be here forever, holding his hand."

 

"I realise that," Mina says quietly.

 

"He's got a destiny," he repeats, "not a life. Duty comes first, last and always. You know that, Mina. You and me both."

 

Something flickers on her face that might even be regret. He puts it down to the emotional toll of losing her only son, even knowing she lost the man he'd been a century before. She's normally so controlled, so careful to keep a distance from everyone around her, even him.

 

Mina has boundaries, and however fond of her he might be, he knows better than to break them.

 

"Ruby," she says, her face once more a mask.

 

He looks away warily. "What about her?"

 

"She has a great deal of influence on Luke, whether he realises it or not."

 

"You're the psychic. Does he?"

 

"Maybe," Mina says with an enigmatic smile. "My point being, it might speed up his training if she were convinced of the necessity of it."

 

"He damn well isn't," Galvin tells her, frustration spilling out. "Sometimes he's there, in the zone, and it's like Jay's standing right in front of me. Rest of the time he's kicking his heels, being a smartass."

 

"It'll come."

 

"It'd better." He pushes back his chair and gets up, heading for the coffee machine. "I already had to break it to Jenny her husband wasn't coming home. I sure as hell don't plan on sitting her down and telling her I've lost her son too."

 

He grabs an empty cup and sticks it under a slot, hunting around for the bottle of malt that Mina keeps hiding.

 

"Rupert..."

 

"You want another one?"

 

"There are lines that should never be crossed," Mina says softly, out of nowhere.

 

Galvin keeps his back turned to her, stabbing at buttons on the machine. He watches his cup fill and waits a full minute before turning back around. Mina is waiting, cool as ever, for a response. She'd never discuss their own relationship, any more than he would. It's pointless asking what she's talking about, or trying to hide it.

 

"I know."

 

Mina nods, head of black hair staying as unruffled as she is. "Ruby's very young."

 

"And I'm very old."

 

She snorts in a strangely ladylike fashion, amused by the statement as only an immortal can be. "No, you're not. But it's a complication. We have enough of those."

 

It's a point Galvin couldn't argue, even if he wanted to. Despite their differences, his misgivings, the four of them are becoming a tightknit bunch, lives and emotions entangled. It's not the most efficient way to be fighting a war.

 

"You don't know everything, Mina," he says, going as cold as she sometimes is, bristling at her damned know-it-all attitude. "It's not what you think."

 

"There's an attraction, yes?"

 

He winces at the word – wrong, a thousand times wrong, the way what it describes is – and doesn't answer. Typically, she doesn't need him to.

 

"Then it's exactly what I think."

 

"How did you know?"

 

"I know you," she says, a bittersweet smile on her face.

 

There's no answer to that that won't cross another line. So yet again he stays silent, keeping the lid on everything, the way he always does, the anger the only thing that ever manages to escape.

 

"It's the atmosphere," Mina continues, dreamily. "It's like an electrical storm gathering. Waiting to break."

 

"Storms blow over," Galvin says, wanting to believe it's true.

 

"Yes," she agrees, grasping his hand and squeezing for an instant as he passes her, on his way back to the table, her timing as flawless as she is. "They do."

 

The silence that falls is easy and soothing, like a balm on his soul, and Galvin is glad of it.

 

"So," he says eventually, grabbing another file and squinting at the name on it. "Ravioli Snip."

 

"You're making that up."

 

"As God is my witness, Mrs Harker—" He settles back in his seat, placing his steaming cup on the table. "I'm making it up."

 

"You need a coaster under that," Mina chides.

 

He rolls his eyes. She smiles and listens as he holds up the file, turns the pages, and begins to read.

 

\----

 

Rupert Galvin divides his life into befores and afters. After he met Mina Harker, learned of the sacrifice she makes to hold on to humanity that takes his breath away, every bit as much as her beauty. After Maggie died, when it was all he could do to keep on breathing. After Jay died, when he was torn between overwhelming guilt and overpowering grief, not knowing which would prove stronger. After he stepped back into the spotlight of Luke's life, trying to mould a new warrior from his memories of the old, a weapon that just might tip the balance in an ancient fight.

 

After he realised Ruby had a crush on the wrong smiter, and discovered in turn that the feeling might even be mutual; however hard he keeps wishing it wasn't.


End file.
